


what it says

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry doesn't have time for kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what it says

**Author's Note:**

> 'A gentle touch speaks volumes.' I blame you, the_me09

Henry doesn't have _time_ for kindness.

He's always in a hurry, always rushing off to take care of something important, some subtle machination that cannot be left untended for long. Their fucks are snuck in between meetings and in half hidden hallways, barely locked doors, small alcoves people tend to miss. It's a wonder they haven't been caught.

It's possible they're simply too frightened of Blackwood to even whisper.

Sometimes, Coward longs for the - the - once, the first time Henry touched him, the first time Henry fucked him, it had been on sheets and there had been firelight and it - well it hadn't been gentle, no, but it had been _perfect_ all the same, because of it.

They haven't since. It's -

Really, he's grateful that Henry gives him as much time as he does. He's grateful for every second Henry touches him in between the more important matters, every second that Henry hurts him, because at least - at least he has something.

And there are always the marks to carry on his skin, the ache to carry him through until the next moment of sin.

Henry doesn't have _time_ to be gentle, and, and, and anyway, he wouldn't want to be gentle. Coward wouldn't want him to be gentle. He's not weak enough to need that.

But.

But.

There's. There's a moment, once, that's burned into Coward's mind however hard he tries to shove it aside, of a time. A time when he'd fallen back, dizzy and weak and suddenly without the ability to control his muscles, unable to see through lashes coated with come; he'd hit the floor, hard, painfully, and while he'd gasped, he hadn't been able to move. Hadn't been able to do anything more than anticipate Henry's shoe connecting with his body, or the sound of his footsteps receding, the sound of a derisive comment on his ' _particular_ lack of control', the feel of something caught just under his lungs, driving out his breath.

Instead. Instead, there is a step, and another, and then a rustle of cloth, and a touch - fabric on his face, wiping away the stickiness, and he can blink, can open his eyes to see Henry kneeling beside him. It isn't concern on his face - Coward doesn't think Henry even knows the expression - but it's something Coward hasn't seen before, all the same.

Henry touches him. Slides his fingers along the edge of Coward's ear and through his hair, cupping the back of his skull. It's - gentle. He freezes, afraid to move into it, waiting for it to turn, waiting for those nails to dig into the back of his scalp.

They never do. 


End file.
